


The Detective

by VendelynSilverhawk



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, could be read as Sherlolly, or just friendship - Freeform, there's a reason Sherlock is different, whatever floats your boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VendelynSilverhawk/pseuds/VendelynSilverhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor wasn't the only Time Lord to escape Gallifrey that fateful day, and from the ashes and grief of war one man tries to forget in the only way he knows how: the greatest secret of the Time Lords, the Chameleon Arch fob watch technology. How could he have guessed that he was only trading one pain for another? That discovering he was not Sherlock Holmes would hurt so much?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Detective

**Author's Note:**

> Another one-shot inspired by something seen on tumblr. Hope you enjoy!

The Detective.

The name was a little pointless now- all the clues to any unsolved crimes had burned with his planet in the fires of the Dalek invasion, and no one needed him to tell who committed the genocide of the Time Lords. It had been written in the stars, that name, echoing through time in a ridiculously redundant question: Doctor Who?

 _The_ Doctor, of course. Arrogant, cocky, kind, empathetic, breathtakingly beautiful, at ease in every body he inhabited, the universe glowing in his eyes. Always and forever "sorry."

At least, from what The Detective had heard- he hadn't seen his old schoolmate since the first days of the Time War, when The Detective had already joined the cycle of the ever-dying. No one knew how The Doctor did it, but the universe remembered him- no one remembered The Detective, the only one who figured out how to break the cycle of death and resurrection as time reset over and over, long-dead Time Lords fighting the Daleks in never-ending waves as children screamed and their planet burned.

In the end, it was as simple as finding his TARDIS, and a bubble universe that aligned with Gallifrey just as he was reborn for the sixth time, death etched onto his face. The question of whether or not skipping across two universes to abandon his people was more or less cowardly that The Doctor's choice to kill them all haunted him for the entire journey, his last conversation with his old friend echoing in his ears, The Detective’s shaky voice telling The Doctor that whatever he did, he understood. Into his TARDIS, which whirred and glowed at his touch, flitting into the pocket universe just as it skimmed across Gallifrey, and then hopping back into his original universe far away, in a different time, a different place. Alive. While his home crumbled.

While time replayed over and over the moment when The Doctor pressed the button.

While the Time Lord Academy was overrun.

While his children were buried.

TDTDTDTDTDTDTDTD

Of course, he didn't remember any of this now. That's because he was no longer The Detective. At least, he didn't know he was. He _was_ a detective, of a sort. On a quaint little planet that had its charms, that had a species which resembled Time Lords. That was big enough and small enough and isolated enough for him to forget that he was himself, and not one of them. Not the human known as Sherlock Holmes.

"It's who you are, Sherlock," Molly whispered, pressing the fob watch into his hand. It had been, from the moment his life began here, the only mystery he had never been able to solve. Perhaps because his urge to open it had stopped once he met John Watson.

"It's who _we_ are." Her voice was soft but insistent, and when she looked at John across the lab tables, then back at Sherlock, her brown eyes were sad. "You can't fight it."

Slowly his fingers caressed its coppery surface, mind puzzling together the markings on its front as some sort of language. A language that was... familiar. A lump formed in his throat and he turned his head slowly, following Molly's gaze, to look at John.

Oh John, oblivious, dedicated, loyal John, who had no idea of the gravity of this latest case, of what Molly had just confessed to Sherlock. The reason why he had always, _always_ come back for her, even when no one else- including him- had considered that she ever mattered at all.

"And, I'm sorry..." she stammered, voice growing stronger by the minute. “But you have to leave this life behind."

 _Why_? He thought. Why did he have to leave it? Why did he have to believe her when she said he was not from this world, that the criminal they were tracking wasn't from this world, either, and that's why he needed to remember?

 _Why_??

When all he wanted to do was stay. With John. The greatest man- the greatest friend- he had ever had the privilege of meeting.

"You'll remember everything, but you won't be Sherlock anymore. We need The Detective now."

"If what you're saying is true," Sherlock murmured, mouth dry, hands caressing the watch, fingernails finding the space between its base and cover, "Then I will be a different person. Tell me why I could want that, if the real me has such a horrible life, according to you. Why on earth would I ever want that?"

Molly's brown eyes watered, but she quickly blinked the tears away.

"Because Sherlock Holmes can't solve this case. Because _others_ know that you're here, and you have to remember what to do. I'm so... I'm so sorry, Detective."

Jaw clenching, Sherlock strode from the room, ignoring John's call of confusion. He paced in the hospital hallway for three breaths, three careful, measured breaths.

Then tore the fob watch open.

"Thank you," The Detective whispered a moment later, when Molly entered the hallway. Tears covered his cheeks, the watch hung open and empty from its chain wound between his long fingers. He looked as lost as the day he had first met her, asking if she wanted to solve the universe with him, the puzzle of the stars.

"You don't have to," she whispered brokenly, sinking down to her knees in front of him, hands clenched on her knees. "I know you would have stayed if you could, and if you want me to leave after this case I will-"

"What are you talking about?" The Detective breathed, confusion sparking something between the layers of his grief. The memories that pounded over him, narrated by the rasping croak of a Dalek screaming " _EXTERMINATE_!"

"Everything," Molly said, wiping tears of her own from her cheeks in the dim light of the hospital hallway. "For making you remember when you were so happy with him. I would do anything for you forget, but... this was the only way."

Forget.

Forget the children he lost in the first days of the Time War. Forget being summoned by the council to fight. Forget watching his first ever TARDIS shut down under the strain of too many years flying among Dalek ships, and being told to find a new one, to let it go.

"Molly Hooper," he breathed, reaching out to touch the top of her hand. Her fingers clenched, but as he slid his own through them she slowly relaxed until their hands were entwined. "Your face was the first one I saw when I came to this world. Small, and nervous, and frightened, but so full of life, and hope. I couldn't imagine how an entire world of people could still be smiling after the war I came through, but _you_ were there for me. Smiling, and when I asked in complete desperation because I couldn't stand the thought of being alone again, if you would come with me, you didn't even hesitate. _Never_ be sorry for keeping me who I am."

Molly's tears returned with a vengeance although she angrily brushed them away and The Detective only laughed softly. Before either of them could say anything else, the doors to the lab swung open, releasing sterile white light into the hallway that threw their shadows onto the wall.

The Detective recognized John's gait, memories belonging to Sherlock Holmes rushing through him, and closed his eyes as if to block out what was to come.

"Sherlock? What's going on?" John asked, looking confused although The Detective couldn't see it. Molly looked at John with mingled horror and pity, and gently unwound her fingers from The Detective's.

"Not Sherlock, I'm afraid," The Detective murmured, opening his eyes. He looked up at the man who had changed his human life, and realized that already he was remembering their flat fondly, as if he would never return. “Not this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> It’s over for now, but who knows? Maybe I’ll do something more with this eventually. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, please leave me a review to tell me what you think! Comments, suggestions, criticisms, ect.


End file.
